The Traveler’s Prayer

A reflection on belonging, hope, and the courage to begin again

When I first wrote The Traveler’s Prayer, I was thinking of the day I left Rwanda, the only home I had ever known, for a country that did not yet know my name.

I was not just crossing an ocean.

I was crossing an invisible line between who I had been and who I would have to become.

“Dear God,

As I am leaving behind everything I have ever known,

As I cross the ocean to the strange land into the unknown,

As I walk through this life,

Let Your beauty shine in me.

Let only You be seen in me.

Therefore, I will light every life I touch.

With You, I am. Amen.”

There is fear when you make that decision to travel, to migrate, to move from one place to another.

There is grief in leaving behind everything familiar and the quiet ache of wondering who you will become in the new land.

But there is also excitement. The kind that lives deep inside your heart when you know that life is inviting you to begin again.

At a young age, I did not know who I would meet or how I would feel. But I learned along the way what it means to live in a strange land and still make it home. I learned to learn their ways without expecting them to learn mine. I learned to listen without asking to be understood. I learned to bring my uniqueness as a gift to others. And I missed home. Not just the land, but the people. I missed my friends and my family.

That kind of longing becomes a quiet wound an immigrant or refugee carries for the rest of their life. Those who have never walked in those shoes may witness it, but they may never truly understand it.

It breaks my heart to see how little empathy there is for those who seek refuge, for those who have already lost everything. But I remind myself that there are more good people in the world than bad. Maybe the loudest voices are only the hateful ones. Because I have met love. I have met kindness.

I have been welcomed by strangers who opened their hearts and made me feel at home. And yes, there were others who did not make me feel that way. But I chose to hold on to those who did. They became my bridge to a new beginning.

Moving from my country to Los Angeles was the beginning of my healing journey, even though I did not know it at the time.

It was the first time I could look at my life from the outside and see it as a past life, not as survival after survival.

I know many who leave their homelands are also searching for peace, for a new rhythm, for something that makes them feel alive again.

Here in Los Angeles, I have met people from every corner of the world. I have tasted new foods, learned new words, and listened to stories that remind me how similar we all are. We may have different shades of skin, different languages, and different ways of life, but in the end we are all human, searching for happiness in the same fragile and beautiful ways.

Someone once told me, “We share the same sky and the same sun, and we never fight over them, only because we have no power over them.” That truth stayed with me. Why do we fight over land, over borders, over who belongs?

If only we could see the earth as we see the sun, something that rises and sets for us all, something we cannot own but can only honor.

Wherever you are reading this from, may The Traveler’s Prayer remind you that every soul deserves a place to arrive.

And that no matter how far you travel, you always carry home within you.